One in three women–people say
Detached and clinical
No names or faces
Peering out from photos or memories
To haunt them
It’s just math–a statistic
That lies through its teeth
By omission
One in three–it’s a scary thing to think
But you ironically feel a bit safer
On a ride in an army-green bus
A day like any other.
The sun beating down through windows
Grimy with the fingerprints of children
And techno music, falsely upbeat,
Coming through tinny speakers
Two men in uniforms at the front,
Not noticing, not yet, what goes on further back
A haughty boy grabs at what is not his
Without permission or any invitation more
Than puberty making its appearance early
And wielding a pink plastic backpack covered in flowers
Like its a loaded gun,
Whacking at his back,
Is a little blonde girl
With determination and baby fat
Clinging to her face
Shoved to the ground
For attempting to defend her sister.
One out of three.
One in three–it should be safe now
But something is off with this equation–
As she lays down in the soft, warm bed
Of her best friend
Feeling safe
He’s sleeping on the floor
And his parents are down the hall
And yet
She wakes up to an invasion
And a world where
He’s just not her friend at all
She’s told there’s nothing she can do
Because she was in his bed–afterall–
In the court of public opinion
The fault is at least partially with her.
So while she tries to forget
He gets to jet
Off to France and to freedom
Without consequence
Two out of three.
One in three–surely it’s safe now
However, even though I’ve never been all that great
With numbers
1+1+1 is 3
And that number three means me.
I thought maybe the one in three
Had been reversed
That someone had gotten a little confused
Kinda like I used to on a timed multiplication quiz
And I was the one that would make an escape
But
I’d always had this shameful dream
Of secrets hidden under sheets
In a bedroom that wasn’t mine.
“Shh…Shh”
What on earth was wrong with me?
I was sick in the head.
That’s the only excuse
For blurry memories of five-year-old me
And seven-year-old him.
So push it down
And far away
Until a casual statement,
An almost throw away joke,
The kind where I can’t remember the context
Or why anyone would find it funny
“It’s like when you and Justin used to play doctor.”
I’m looking down at myself as I freeze–and ask incredulously,
“You knew?”
A flippant, “Oh, yeah…”
Like I didn’t spend twenty-four years thinking I was crazy.
It was real and had happened to me
And no one had done anything.
I was first, had just miscounted
The total–if you’ve been keeping track–is now
Three out of three.
And statistics have always been bullshit.
